The Detective Dances!
by Mahala
Summary: Out to catch a killer? It's time to put on your dancing shoes! Mac centric one-shot. Features most of the team and a little JAC fluff. Crime, humour and maybe just a little romance.


**.**

**The Detective Dances!**

**.**

With a face as hard as stone, Mac Taylor pulled at the doors to his wardrobe. They slid silently open on well-oiled runners. Any casual observer would think he had prepared his closet for a glossy photo shoot. The shirts hung in a neat line, ordered by colour from pristine white on the left to greys, blues and blacks ending with the one exception to his usual colour scheme. Magenta. It had been a gift. The dark suits hung next to one another with ties perfectly arranged on a specially designed hanger. The few casual clothes he owned were neatly folded on shelves. Any miscellaneous items hidden discretely away in two brown boxes.

Mac selected a white dress shirt with neat pleats down the front and a small winged collar. He slipped it on and buttoned it up to the neck. Next he selected a suit, not one of the ones he wore for work but one of the suits that spent their time in suit covers. He unzipped the cover, pushed in a hand and pulled out the trousers before returning the hanger to the rail. He winced slightly as he buttoned up the trousers and took a side-ways glance at the mirror pulling in his stomach as he did so.

Next came the shoes from a rack on the right. He selected a box and pulled out a pair of black dress shoes that looked as though they had never been worn. He brushed away an invisible speck of dust and went over to the bed and sat to put them on. No sooner had he finished lacing them than the doorbell rang. He glared in the direction of the door. He got up and pushed the cupboard doors closed as he passed.

Without bothering to look through the spyhole he flung the door open. His lips formed a hard line and he gave an irritated exclamation of displeasure at the sight of his visitor. Don Flack stood nonchalantly on his doormat wearing a dove grey uniform with a silver tie and a peaked cap set at a jaunty angle. His left arm was folded across his stomach and his right was bent at the elbow, a suit carrier swinging from his index finger. He was wearing his cockiest smile.

Without a word Mac grabbed the suit carrier and strode back into the apartment. Don's smile broadened to a grin and he followed Mac in, closing the front door behind him. On gaining Mac's bedroom Don pulled off his cap and flung himself on the bed. He watched in silence as Mac hung the suit carrier on the door and went to his dresser. He yanked open the drawer and pulled out a box. He glared at Don in the mirror as he fixed his cuff-links. This only seemed to amuse the younger detective even more. Once the cuff-links were fixed to his satisfaction he pulled out another box and took out a bow tie. Don watched him and pulled a face. He had to admit that he was impressed that Mac could fix it so quickly and expertly. It seemed to take him hours, not that he had much occasion to wear a bow tie. Don jumped off the bed and unzipped the suit carrier. Carefully he lifted out the jacket and with mock politeness held it out for Mac to put on. Mac tried one of his best glares but the cocky smile reappeared.

Don stepped back to admire the effect. "Not bad. You brush up quite nicely." He received another glare by way of a response, much to his amusement. Mac dug his hand in the drawer once more and pulled out a stack of folded dollar bills held together with a diamond encrusted gold clip. Don's eyes widened as he saw they were twenties. Mac pushed it into his pocket and pulled out yet another box. He slipped the expensive looking gold Rolex onto his wrist. Don's eyes almost fell out of his head.

It was Mac's turn to smile. "Now come along Jeeves. I don't want to be late."

.

.

Walter shuffled along the side-walk pushing his cart and humming quietly to himself. He gave the impression of wandering aimlessly but in fact he had a specific destination in mind. People heading home after a day's shopping or an early dinner skirted around him, some ignoring him, some giving him looks of disapproval as though he shouldn't be allowed to walk on the same street as them. He ignored them. He was used to it. He turned the corner onto a quieter street and his destination came into view. The boutiques on either side were closed now. Shutters had been rolled down and lights switched off. There was a noisy bar on the corner of the street but he soon left that behind. He approached a hotel where the doorman gave him smile.

"Hey there Walter. You doing okay bro?"

Walter looked at him and nodded but didn't break stride. He didn't want to be late. Not tonight. "M'm alright Mo."

"I'll leave you a bite by the back door after my shift."

"Thank yer kindly Mo. Thank yer kindly." Walter shuffled on resuming his humming and Mo shook his head sadly. Didn't seem right to finish up like that. He'd go chat up Sally in the kitchen later and get her to leave a doggie bag for the poor old man. There was always food left over after the guests had finished. Seemed only right that Walter should get a decent meal.

Walter shuffled on until he reached the next intersection and there, on the corner, was a fancy portico that had once been the entrance to the Metropolitan Bank. It had been converted into a store selling scruffy looking clothes at exorbitant prices. Next to it was a modern office building that did he-didn't-know-what and he didn't care. He seemed to remember that it had once been a drapers. Next to that was one of those coffee shops that seemed to have sprung up all over the place. Walter wasn't interested in the those. He didn't like coffee. It was the single doorway that stood between the two that interested him. The doorway with two large blue doors with golden handles, the smart red carpet and the large fancy light fixture in the alcove above it. He crossed the street to the small park opposite and parked his cart behind a bench. Carefully he pulled out a thick roll of newspaper and unfolded it placing it on the wooden seat. He noticed that it had been painted since his last visit.

"'Bout time too!" he muttered to himself. He settled himself down on his newspaper cushion and waited. The light switched on casting a bright circle of light onto the side-walk and the double doors were opened by an invisible person on the inside adding to the warm glow. He hummed to himself. He had a feeling it was going to be a good evening.

Less than a minute later a large grey van with the words "Dry Cleaning" on the side pulled up in front of the doors. Walter sat up straight, a slight feeling of panic unsettling his stomach.

"No, no, no ..."

They couldn't stop there but the van only paused a second before pulling around the side of the building that had once been the Metropolitan Bank and parking a few yards away. Walter sighed with relief as once again he had an uninterrupted view of the blue doors. They wouldn't begin to arrive for a few minutes yet so he squinted at the van. Two men got out. The first, the driver, was a smartly dressed African American with glasses. Walter frowned. Not your usual type of van driver. Looked more like a professional, a lawyer or a doctor maybe. He walked round to the back of the van where the second, a scruffy young man with a messenger bag slung over one shoulder opened the door for him. They both looked around and then got into the van closing the door behind them. Curious, thought Walter to himself.

He was distracted from the van and its occupants by the first arrivals at the blue door. First a cab pulled up depositing an elderly couple. The silver-haired man held the door open for the woman who lifted herself out carefully. She had a beautiful silk-shot shawl wrapped around her. He held her arm as he guided her towards the doors. The doorman appeared in his dark blue and gold coat and waved them in. Walter frowned. It wasn't the usual doorman. This man was much younger and obviously it was his first time as he pulled irritably at his collar and adjusted the coat that was a little too big for him. Another cab pulled up and this time the young man got his act together. He stepped up to the cab and opened the door. Another man got out accompanied by two women. Walter recognised them. The sisters he called them. Tonight they were wearing the silver dresses. He smiled. Less than a year ago there would have been another man with them but he'd passed on. Walter had seen his obituary in The Times.

The next arrivals came on foot, an older couple he remembered seeing before and a group of four middle-aged women. The divorcees, he called them. The women giggled loudly as they made their way in through the doors, the doorman bobbing his head as he greeted the guests. There was a lull in the arrivals and Walter's eyes flicked back to the dry-cleaning van. He wondered what the men were doing in there. As he watched, two men walked past him. They were young, students probably, as they were dressed in the uniform that young people seemed to prefer these days. Faded jeans, dirty sneakers and sloppy tee-shirts. One of them had that dreadful picture of Einstein sticking out his tongue, the other a copy of the periodic table. Much to Walter's surprise the two young men walked up to the van, looked around nervously and knocked on the door. The door opened. The African-American that he had seen earlier poked his head out, looked around and waved them inside. Curiouser and curiouser, thought Walter to himself.

He was distracted again by more arrivals at the blue doors. Two cabs. Then two chauffeur driven cars. More arrivals on foot. Then two more cabs. Walter was surprised. Things were really swinging. He hummed contentedly to himself as he enjoyed his favourite pastime of people-watching. It was going to be a good evening.

Half an hour later Walter was enjoying himself immensely. He happily watched the stream of elegantly dressed men and women arrive at the blue doors, some in groups and some alone. He recognized a good many of them. He had done this before. He loved watching the arrivals and the departures and it was a warm evening, not a cloud in the sky letting the soft silvery moonlight mingle with the lights of the city. It was perfect. He nodded with satisfaction as the doorman got into the swing of his job opening the doors. He kept his eye on the dry-cleaning van but no one got out. He wondered what on earth they could be doing in there.

About thirty minutes after the doors had opened, a cab pulled up followed by a sleek black Mercedes. The cab deposited two women, one in a bright red dress, the other in a deep blue. They paused on the threshold, one of them pretending to look for something in her purse. Walter wasn't fooled. They couldn't keep their eyes off the Mercedes that was waiting for the cab to pull away. No sooner had it stopped than a grey suited chauffeur stepped out. The doorman opened the passenger door and a well-dressed man got out. Walter didn't recognise him. He nodded to the doorman and spoke briefly to the chauffeur. He looked around as though surveying the park. Their eyes met for a brief moment and Walter had the impression of a strong, confident, self-controlled man. He had the bearing of a soldier. Then the man turned and went inside gesturing politely for the two women to precede him. Walter approved. A gentleman he thought to himself. Strangely, the chauffeur and the doorman stopped to talk as though they knew one another then the doorman went back to his post and the chauffeur pulled the Mercedes around the corner and parked just beyond the dry-cleaning van. Then the strangest thing happened. The chauffeur got out, walked to the back of the van, pulled open the door and got in. Walter's eyes almost dropped out of his head. _What the hell was going on in that van?_ There were five of them in there now. This was turning out to be a very interesting evening.

.

.

Mac walked down the plush carpeted hallway, his eyes flicking over the black and white photographs from days gone by that adorned the walls. The soft strains of Mozart filled the air, the glow of lights from the end of the corridor invitingly drawing him in. The two women paused to hand their invitations over to a young woman in a black skirt and a white blouse with a gold-striped waistcoat over the top. They were given small cards in return. Mac stepped up.

"Good Evening Sir," the young woman said.

A small smile tugged at the edge of his lips. "Good evening ..." he paused to look at the name badge affixed to the top edge of the pocket on her waistcoat. "...Lindsay!" He handed over his invitation.

"Your dance card Sir." She held out a small card with a tiny gold pencil attached. She glanced at the two women who had paused pretending to consult the list of dances for the evening but were in reality eyeing them curiously. "Are you new to the club Sir?"

"No. It's just that I haven't been for a while, since my dear wife passed on." Lindsay noticed the look the women exchanged as they eavesdropped.

"Oh I'm very sorry to hear that Sir." Lindsay smiled sympathetically at him. "Well it's good to have you back with us. Have a good evening."

Mac nodded his thanks, pulled out the roll of twenties, peeled one off and popped it into her top pocket ensuring that the two women got a good view of the Rolex. "Thank you Lindsay."

Lindsay almost gawped at this new Mac in amazement but managed to pull herself together. "Thank you Sir."

Mac turned to the two women and offered them a smile. Lindsay's eyes widened. They looked like they had just won the jackpot. She felt her jaw drop at what happened next. Mac sauntered casually up to them. "Are you ladies expecting company?" he enquired. Both shook their heads. "Then perhaps you would allow me to escort you in?" he asked.

"We'd be delighted," gushed Miss Midnight-Blue-Dress blushing prettily.

"We would," purred Miss Crimson-Red-Dress.

Mac stuck out his right elbow much to Miss Crimson-Red's delight. She couldn't take hold fast enough. Then he offered his other arm to Miss Midnight-Blue and escorted them into the ballroom. Lindsay watched her boss in utter astonishment. And she wasn't the only one.

Inside the grey van five pairs of eyes were glued to the bank of monitors. They all leaned imperceptibly closer as Mac entered.

"Sonofabitch," gasped Don incredulous as he spied the two women hanging off Mac's arms. "That was fast!"

Sheldon Hawkes chuckled to himself. "I guess Mac can still bust out his game when he needs to,"

"Oh, oh, quick Adam, set the scanner, set the scanner." Brian, the scruffy young man in the Einstein shirt was beside himself with excitement. He jiggled around behind Adam's chair.

Adam was momentarily stunned to see his boss with two completely unknown women hanging off each arm but a nudge from Denis soon woke him up. "Come on Adam. Quick before they get to a table."

"Er, yeah, right. Okay." His fingers flew across the keyboard. They looked at a second monitor. Slowly a green on black image revealed itself. It had the rough outline of the arms and torso of a man. Several green smudges were highlighted on the arms which were overlaid with points marked with reference numbers. He grabbed the mouse and selected a number. "Okay here comes a left index finger."

Brian leaned over his shoulder. A small window popped up and a perfect finger print revealed itself. "That's awesome! Quick! Compare it to the one you've got."

Adam tapped away. A second print appeared and a set of lines were drawn across between the two prints. Everyone held their breath. A large rectangle popped up on the screen. "Negative." The sighs of disappointment were audible. "Oh well, can't expect a result straight away. At least it works!"

"Awesome!" Denis was ecstatic. "We are so going to get our PhD's with this."

"Totally awesome!" agreed Brian excitedly. Even Don and Sheldon had to agree. It was an amazing piece of technology. "Now all he has to do is dance with every woman in the room and we'll soon identify your killer!"

Sheldon and Don looked at one another with worried expressions. "Can Mac actually dance?" asked Sheldon tentatively. Don shrugged. Adam and his two friends turned to them in horror.

"You mean, you didn't ask him?"

Sheldon and Don looked slightly guilty not wanting to admit they hadn't dared to ask him. Slowly they turned back to the monitors with a mixture of fascination, anticipation and the feeling that this could all go horribly wrong.

.

.

The ballroom was magnificent. The high stuccoed ceilings were hung with enormous chandeliers. Red velvet drapes graced trompe l'oeil windows. Exotic flower arrangements sat on elegant pieces of furniture against the walls. The cloths on the tables were lily white contrasting with the deep red of the chairs and carpeted areas. A raised dais at one end held a small orchestra who were playing a waltz. A high-polished wooden bar ran down one side. Waiters and waitresses in formal uniforms were moving among the tables handing out drinks. Mac steered his companions to a table at the edge of the polished wooden dance floor and pulled out chairs for them. They simpered at him as they took their places thinking to themselves that this was their lucky night. Several couples had already taken to the floor but there were still many who were seated, just watching and sipping at drinks. A shadow fell over their table. Mac looked up, with a hint of smile on his face. He allowed his eyes to roam up the long slender legs encased in black stockings, the short black cocktail waitress dress complete with white ruffle around the neckline. Damn if she wasn't sexy, he thought to himself.

"Good evening, Sir, Ladies. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Excellent!" Mac smiled at his companions. "What would you like?" The two women hesitated for a moment looking a little flustered and more than a little flattered that he had chosen them to sit with. "I know, champagne!" The two women giggled with pleasure, nodding eagerly. The cocktail waitress arched an eyebrow. Mac favoured her with a dazzling smile. "A bottle of the Bollinger if you please ..." He looked pointedly at her name tag which sat tantalizingly above her left breast. "... Josephine."

Jo flashed him a secret message with her eyes. _Bollinger? Sinclair is going to kill you._

Mac merely smiled. _Serve him right. He got me into this in the first place._

.

.

He had been gone only three days to testify in a high-profile case in the capital. Jo had kept him up to date with their cases: a gang related shooting in the Bronx, a home invasion that had gone bad and the strange case of a man wearing a tuxedo found stabbed to death in an alley in a quiet area of the garment district. The case was almost identical to a cold case they had been working on for several months. The only difference was that this victim had been wearing an expensive pair of hand-made dance shoes which were easy to trace. Enquiries had led them to discover that both men had attended events at the Manhattan Old-Time Dance Club.

Sid had determined that the killer couldn't have been more than five foot five, possibly a woman. This was confirmed by a set of prints from a small left hand found on the ground next to the second victim as though the perpetrator had stumbled and put down a hand to steady themselves. But Sid had been frustrated by the murder weapon. No amount of searching and testing had proved fruitful. Even an afternoon helping Sheldon stab a poor pig with a variety of lethal looking instruments had left them baffled. All he could say for sure was that it had two sharp prongs.

They had hit a dead end when the judge had refused to give them a warrant to fingerprint the female members of the club declaring they didn't have enough evidence. Sinclair had been riding their backs over the case as the first victim had been an acquaintance of the mayor and the powers-that-be were pushing him for a result. They had been discussing the case when Sinclair had shown up wanting to know their next move.

"Well we could surreptitiously get prints from the glasses. I mean everyone has a drink don't they. We could get the club to let us in as bar staff," suggested Danny.

Jo shook her head. "Too much risk of a mix-up. You can't exactly whisk people's glasses from under their noses. I mean it's okay with one or two but anything upwards of twenty women attend these events. That's a tall order!" Everyone had glared at her. "No pun intended."

Only Sinclair wasn't amused. "Well you need to come up with something," he declared.

Adam put his hand up tentatively. "Er … I have … er … a suggestion … I mean I don't know if it will work or … er … but ..."

"Well spit it out." Sinclair glared at Adam.

"I have two friends at NYU. They're working on their PhDs ... on touch sensitive fabrics ..." Sinclair narrowed his eyes. "I've been helping them put together a programme to give a visual representation of the effects of touch on the fabric and … er … I think … I could adapt it to fit our needs."

Sheldon leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "How?"

"Well, the programme gives a digital representation of the pattern imposed on the fabric. It's quite sensitive. If I were to touch it with my hand it would show up a palm print. I think we could intensify the scan to get down to ridge detail … " Adam looked around the room. "It could collect the fingerprints of anyone who touched it."

"And how exactly do we get someone to touch it?" asked Lindsay.

"Er … we … er..." Adam looked a little doubtful. "... we make it into a jacket and the wearer … er .. dances with the women … the suspects … the killer. And we get their prints and then .. we … er … arrest … them." He stuttered to a close as he realized that everyone was staring at him. He flushed bright red and wished he had kept his mouth shut.

"Oh Adam," gushed Jo. "You are a genius!"

"I am?"

"Brilliant!" confirmed Sheldon Hawkes looking admiringly at Adam.

"I think it's cool," announced Danny.

"Okay but there's just one problem?" They all looked at Lindsay.

"What's that?" demanded Sinclair.

"Who are we going to get to wear it?" All five men in the room shrunk slightly, none of them wishing to have that dubious pleasure. Sinclair looked around the room. His eyes fell on Adam and immediately moved on, then at Sheldon Hawkes, then at Danny Messer. They stayed longest on Don Flack who was standing by the window. Don shuffled nervously looking like he rather be served up as a spit-roast. Sinclair didn't look convinced.

It was then that Mac walked in. All heads swivelled to look at him. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on. Then he realized that they were all looking at him strangely, very strangely indeed. Sinclair turned and grinned at Adam.

"Why don't you get Mac's measurements Mr Ross?" He turned his smile on Mac as he stalked out of the room. "I think he fits the bill admirably."

Mac's bemused gaze followed Sinclair out of the room. Then he turned back to Adam who offered him a weak smile. Everyone else seemed to be eyeing him like he was a piece of prize beef in the butcher's window... and there was a special offer on.

.

.

Having downed a glass of champagne Mac decided that it was time to get the plan under way. He scrawled his name on the companion's dance cards and offered the first dance to Miss Crimson Red whose name he discovered was Gloria. As he waltzed her gently around the room he was able to spot other potential suspects. However he was a little disconcerted to see that he was not the only person doing the weighing up. At least a dozen women in the room were eyeing him up and down. One woman at a table of four winked at him and whispered something to the others. He thought he picked up the words 'Rolex' and 'Mercedes'. They all looked at him and giggled. He got the prize beef feeling again.

Out in the van the screen flashed up 'negative' again. Adam had decided to double-check their identities using facial recognition at the same time. Miss Crimson-Red's DMV licence came up. Gloria Weston. Manhattan address. No record.

Don stood leaning against the side of the van intently focussed on the monitor. "Well I guess that answers our question."

Sheldon nodded. "Not bad, a little stiff possibly but not bad. Footwork's quite neat. Needs to relax his shoulders more."

Adam looked at them. "It's not Dancing with the Stars!"

Sheldon shrugged. "I like Dancing with the Stars."

"Dance is over. Who's up next?"

"Oh, it's the other one in the dark blue dress. We've already done her. You know this could take all night."

Don's face fell. "Anyone bring any food?" The sound of gurgling stomachs filled the van.

.

.

It was always quiet after the arrivals. Walter sat humming to himself with his eyes closed, lost in his memories. His reverie however was broken as a scooter roared its way past him. He glared at it. It was one of those red pizza delivery bikes. Damned menaces, he thought to himself, always driving on the side-walk or going the wrong way down one-way streets. The scooter skidded up to the corner and stopped. The kid got off and opened up the box at the back. He pulled out half a dozen pizza boxes and stood on the side-walk looking around in confusion. The door of the van opened and the chauffeur got out. He paid the kid, took the pizza, got back in the van and closed the door leaving behind a very bewildered pizza delivery boy. The kid stared at the van for a moment, then counted his money, shrugged, shoved it in his pocket, got back on his bike and zoomed off. Walter blinked. _Why would five men sit in a van all evening and eat pizza?_ He had been toying with the question of the men in the van all evening. Then it struck him. He knew exactly what it was. It was an illegal gambling joint. He nodded in satisfaction, closed his eyes and resumed his humming.

.

.

"Ten bucks says he gets her before midnight," offered Sheldon impressed that his boss was executing a passable foxtrot around the room with his latest conquest, a purpled-robed woman from the table of four.

"My money's on that woman if looks could kill," mumbled Don as he munched his way through a pepperoni slice.

They all peered at the screens. "Which one?"

Don smothered a snigger. "The one behind the bar." Adam zoomed in on the bar.

Sheldon shook his hand. "Aie! Aie! Aie!"

.

.

Jo was wiping the glass so vigorously it was surprising it didn't melt. She watched as Mac flicked past her with his seventh partner of the evening, a buxom woman who sole purpose in life appeared to be showing off her ample cleavage. If they had needed an imprint of her chest they would have had the perfect scan. She couldn't possibly have got any closer. As Mac neared the bar he winked. The look on Jo's face was worse than the Medusa's glare. She couldn't believe it. He was actually enjoying himself!

Jo glanced over to the doorway. Lindsay shook her head. They hadn't identified her yet. The dance came to an end and Mac escorted the woman back to the table. There was to be a short break before the next set of dances so Mac made his way back to his table much to the disappointment of the four women who all cooed and waved fingers at him. As he passed a table a man stood. He was accompanied by two women in silver dresses. Mac paused to speak with them. She noticed him address one of the women and mark her dance card. A movement caught her eye. A woman in dark red dress seated discretely by a large pillar was watching him. In fact, Jo realized, her eyes had never left him for whole evening.

Mac made his way back to the table. Miss Crimson-Red was chatting to an elderly couple who were making their way around the room chatting amiably with whoever they could find. Mac invited them to join them much to the irritation of Miss Crimson-Red and Miss Midnight-Blue. He waved at Jo and indicated that she should bring another bottle of Bollinger. Jo thought she wouldn't have to kill him. Sinclair would do it for her.

As she replenished the drinks and Mac's _two women_ excused themselves to powder their noses, Jo caught his eye.

"Dark red at eight o'clock," she mouthed.

Mac nodded, waited for a few minutes pretending to listen to the old man talk about the history of the dance club. Then he turned slowly to his left. Next to the two sisters one of whom he had promised the next dance to sat a woman by herself. She was staring right at him. They looked at one another for a moment then Mac smiled and raised his glass slightly. She raised hers in acknowledgement. For some reason he felt a shiver run down his spine. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight chignon fixed with a large diamanté comb. Her eyes were two dark pools. The whole set of her jaw and her body language prevented all but the toughest of men from approaching her.

The elderly couple finally excused themselves and Mac took the opportunity to get up and request a dance from the woman in the dark red dress. As he approached she stared at him the way a lioness stares at her prey.

"Good evening," he began. "May I request a dance?"

"I only tango."

Mac was a little nonplussed. "Then I fear you may be disappointed. I don't believe that is on the programme for tonight."

"No matter," she purred as she rose feline-like from her table. "I know just the place. When you've fulfilled your commitments here why don't you join me? I'm in need of a little fresh air. I'll wait by the side-door." She nodded towards a heavy velvet curtain in the far corner of the room. She stepped up closer and whispered in his ear. "That is, if you dare." Suddenly Mac's collar felt excruciatingly tight.

.

.

"Jo does not look happy." They all peered at the screen. Jo was stood with a paring knife and the look on her face said she was prepared to use it. They all swivelled to the screen showing Mac talking to the woman in the dark red dress. He appeared to be standing very stiffly. Adam zoomed in. "Whoa! Has she got her hand …"

Sheldon's eyes grew to the size of saucers. Don sniggered. "At least I can arrest her for molestation."

Denis turned to Brian. "Maybe we should have made pants too." Brian nodded open-mouthed.

"Wouldn't help guys," Adam muttered. "She's wearing gloves."

"Get her on facial recognition Adam."

Adam fiddled with the cameras, zoomed in, isolated her face and started a comparison. Face after face flashed past in the tiny window. "Come one. Come on." Suddenly it stopped. A face appeared. It was the same woman but not nearly such a flattering picture. Her unkempt hair was straight down by the sides of her face and she was staring at the camera with hatred. "Maria Barchelli," Adam clicked to bring up the entire file. "Oh! She's wanted by Interpol … for questioning in relation to the murder of her husband. He was found stabbed to death outside his place of work … oh oh, not good!"

"What?"

"He was a dance instructor."

"Shit! Where'd she go?" Adam flicked from one camera to another. She was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Mac. Don grabbed his phone. "Danny, I think we got a suspect, woman in a dark red dress, five foot five, about a hundred and twenty pounds, dark hair pulled back with a … kinda sparkly thing in it. Move."

Sheldon looked at him. "A kinda sparkly thing?" Don shrugged and lunged for the door.

.

.

Walter sensed rather than heard the doors fly open. He looked up in surprise. The chauffeur followed by the driver dashed out and ran towards the front of the hall. He was yelling into a cell phone. The doorman suddenly came running out and pointed down the road. The took off past the building that had once been the draper's shop and past the coffee house. They all turned down the alley beyond. Walter looked back at the van. The three scruffy looking ones were standing at the back of the van looking worried. In the distance the sound of a siren cut through the night air.

.

.

Jo had been distracted by a client for a few seconds so she didn't actually see him leave. One minute he was talking to the sisters, the next he was gone. She dropped her tools and made her way towards the fire exit which she knew led into the alleyway behind the building. As she passed, ignoring a customer's attempts to attract her attention, she noticed Lindsay on the other side of the room. Danny was stood by her whispering urgently. They both looked around and caught her eye. She knew immediately something was up. She indicated where she was going, waving her hand in circles to tell them to circle around and then stuck her hand up her skirt and pulled out her weapon. Taking a deep breath she pushed through the velvet curtains and into a service corridor. It was empty. She pushed open the fire exit and looked to her right. She was horrified to see the prone figure of a man lying a little way further up the alley by a large green dumpster.

"Mac!"

She raced up to him looking for the woman in the red dress who was nowhere to be seen. As she reached him she realized he was struggling to his feet.

"Bitch," he muttered under his breath.

"Let me see." Jo scrabbled at his shirt but stopped surprised. She looked up at him.

"Stab vest." He pulled the shirt apart for her to see. "An advanced composite of ultra-high-tensile fibres and thermoplastic resin. Lightweight and comfortable. Well … reasonably. A bit tight around the waist." He winced as he noticed two small silver spikes embedded in the material. Noise from the end of the alley drew their attention.

Don and Danny made an appearance dragging a screaming, spitting ball of fury. They were backed up by Lindsay who had her gun firmly gripped in both hands and a smiling Sheldon Hawkes who was clearly enjoying himself very much.

Don grinned. "You all right there buddy?"

Mac nodded and showed him the stab vest. Don waved a shiny object in his hand. "Wow, she got you with the kinda' sparkly hair thing. Sid is going to be so pissed when we tell him what it is. You'll have to let him autopsy your vest." Jo rolled her eyes and Mac shook his head in amusement while Sheldon and Lindsay sniggered.

Don tipped his head at the screaming, spitting ball of fury who had been silenced into a seething mass of anger with one look from Lindsay and a wave of her Glock. "Meet Maria Barchelli, wanted by Interpol for questioning in relation to the murder of her husband, a dance instructor." Don forced her arm out and pulled off her glove. "And ..." Don lifted his phone to his ear. "You ready Adam? And ..." Mac took a step forward. To the woman's surprise he pushed her hand against Mac's jacket.

A few seconds passed. "It's a match. That's her," came Adam's voice from the phone accompanied by two whoops of joy.

Don smiled. "And … wanted by the NYPD for the murders of Anthony Graves and Thomas Warren." Mac cleared his throat and pointed at the two spikes in his vest. "Oh … and the attempted the murder of a New York Crime Scene Investigator." The cheeky grin reappeared. "Not to mention molestation in a public place." Mac blushed nicely while the others did their best not to smile. Jo merely glared at Maria Barchelli who let loose with a flurry of Italian.

Danny feigned shock. "Language," he admonished as they led her away. "That's no way to speak with gentlemen present."

.

.

Walter thought that perhaps the sirens were to arrest the illegal gamblers in the van but it turned out to be much more exciting. Several squad cars turned up. He was very surprised to see the chauffeur and the doorman drag a sulky looking woman in a dark red dress towards one of the cars. He was even more surprised to see two female members of staff with guns. After much toing and froing they all eventually left as did the guests. It all wound down much earlier than usual. Walter sat comfortably on his bench watching until the last of the cars and the dry-cleaning van were driven away.

Finally the lights were switched off and, as the doors closed behind them, a couple stepped out. Walter sat very still. They stood on the side-walk for a moment then the man grabbed the woman's hand and led her across the road to the park. He was wearing a tuxedo but the tie was undone hanging loosely around his neck and the jacket was open. They walked together hand in hand. Walter twisted slightly in his seat to watch them go past. They headed to the centre of the park and the old-fashioned bandstand that still stood nestled among the trees. It hadn't been used in ages. The woman stopped but the man encouraged her to step up into the bandstand with him. They stood talking for a moment and then the man pulled her close and they began to dance. Soft gentle swaying steps to a music only they could hear. Tears sprang to Walter's eyes as he watched them slowly turn around oblivious to the world around them, lost in one another.

He closed his eyes. He could smell the roses mingled with her perfume. He could feel her tiny hands in his. He could hear the music.

"_We can't," she whispered nervously. "What if someone sees us?"_

"_I don't care." He pulled her close. "The minute I saw you I fell in love with you." She gasped. "I don't want to dance with those other women. I want to dance only with you." He began to hum, a deep rich voice as he took her in his arms. They started slow and little by little they got faster and faster whirling round and round the bandstand till they felt giddy. Her long dark hair escaped it's confines and tumbled loosely on her shoulders. She laughed as he swung her around until they were both out of breath. As they stopped he held her at arms length and he dropped to one knee. "I love you Mary and I want to marry you. Will you be my wife?"_

_She looked at him for a moment. "Walter, I do love you with all my heart but you're ri… " She couldn't say it. ".. and I'm … I'm just a cocktail waitress. I don't have anything to offer you."_

"_I don't care. Mary, I love you and I just want to spend the rest of my life with you. As my wife. Please … please say yes."_

Walter held the picture tight in his hands as tears trickled down his face. He looked down at the picture of himself in his uniform and Mary in her wedding dress. "Fifty-three years my love. Happy anniversary." He looked at the couple who were dancing slowly together, the man in the tuxedo and the cocktail waitress. He nodded with approval as he watched them. Silently he wished them well and hoped that they'd be as happy as he'd been with his Mary before the illness that took her away from him. Walter watched the man bend his head to kiss her. Time for him to be going. Slowly Walter got up, picked up his newspapers, folded them neatly and packed them in his cart, and shuffled off to see what Mo had left him for dinner. Yes, he thought to himself with one last glance at the couple in the bandstand, it was a very good evening indeed.

.

.

"Are you sure you're all right? Don't you think you ought to get checked out?"

"Jo, I'm fine. Come on."

"What? Where?" Mac merely smiled that enigmatic smile, grabbed her hand and pulled her across the road clearly heading for the park.

"Mac not like this." She indicated her outfit. Mac licked his lips and with a grin told her he thought it was sexy. "Mac!" She narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure you're all right? How much champagne did you drink?" Mac laughed. "I think you should have let Sheldon check you over."

"I'm fine though.." His face took on a serious expression. "... I may need counselling." Jo raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Well I was molested in a public place." His eyes sparkled with amusement.

Jo giggled and slapped his arm. "Is that even a real charge?"

Mac shrugged. "I doubt it. Come on." He pulled her towards the bandstand.

"Mac!"

"Dance with me Jo." She stared at him like he'd gone mad. _What had happened to the stern, tightly-controlled man that ran the New York Crime lab?_ He reached out and took her in his arms and began to sway. She gazed into his eyes.

"Where did you learn to dance anyway?"

For a moment he looked down, a slight look of embarrassment coming over his features. "My Mom," he replied. "She was a dance teacher. She made me go down the local hall every Tuesday night. Not enough boys." He raised his eyes. "The upside was I got to dance with all the girls!" he added cheekily.

"Mac Taylor, You are a very, very wicked man."

He pulled her close and whispered in her ear. "Oh you have no idea!"

.

.

Two miles away, Sheldon Hawkes pulled the dry-cleaning van into the parking garage under the lab. He and Adam hopped out and went round to the back of the van. Adam opened the door. "Okay guys here we are." They both looked in but Brian and Denis were sitting at the computers glued to the screens. Curious Adam and Sheldon got in and peered over their shoulders.

"It's amazing," gasped Brian. "It's still working even at this range. We are good!"

"Awesome." Denis enthused.

Adam and Sheldon looked at the screen in confusion. They leaned a little closer. What looked like two palm prints were clearly imprinted on the back of the jacket. Adam reached over and grabbed the mouse. He selected a number. A fingerprint popped up in a little window and the search began on the adjacent screen. It bleeped after only a few seconds and the official ID of Jo Danville popped up on screen. Sheldon folded his arms, his brow furrowed. He looked at Adam who was staring at the screen in utter astonishment and the hand prints that were moving very slowly down the jacket. His eyes widened.

"Definitely think we should have made pants," muttered Brian.

"Oh yeah!"

**The End.**


End file.
